The Prize Part 6
Over lamb stew, not venison, Tavel, who was in a talkative mood, asked Janice if she had heard any word of the war in the east.
"I couldn't talk about that even if I had heard anything," she informed him.
"Of course," he apologized. "I doubt that the situation has changed that much anyway. I was just wondering. You see, I have a theory that this will be the winter that the Soviets will try to break out of their encirclement. If it is a harsh winter, they will give your panzers some hard times."
Janice certainly hoped this was true, but she couldn't say this. Instead she asked, "How so?"
"Are you familiar with Napoleon's campaign in Russia?"
"A little. Why don't your refresh my memory?"
Alasandre entered with white wine, which Janice and Mel each accepted, and that their host declined. "That will be all," the Count said firmly, and his manservant bowed his way through the door that led to the kitchen.
"Napoleon and Russia?" Mel prompted.
Tavel cleared his throat and looked over the women's heads as he told the story. "In 1812, Napoleon attacked Russia with half a million soldiers. He met the Tsar's army at Borodino Field, only 70 miles from Moscow. Over 100,000 men died on that battlefield in one day. The Russians gave up the field, and Napoleon took the capital."
"So Napoleon won?" Mel asked.
"No," Tavel answered, and he looked pointedly at Janice. "He thought he had won, but he found that Moscow contained no supplies, and the Tsar would not negotiate with him. In October, the French army started home, following the trail of the devastation they had wrought. There was an early and exceptionally cold winter, and the French became isolated into small units desperately hunting for food and shelter. The weather and the cossacks decimated them." He paused. "Ten thousand French soldiers made it home. Ten thousand from a half-million. It meant the end of Napoleon's rule."
"Are you making a prediction?" Janice asked, her tone neutral.
"No, just an observation. I could also discuss with you the merits of a two-front war."
Mel remembered something that Tavel had told her earlier. "Did your brother share with you his knowledge of military history and strategy?"
"Napoleon's Russian campaign is well-known," he answered. "As is its outcome." He noticed that the women had finished their meal. He indicated fresh fruit in a bowl on the table and remarked, "Alasandre was busy today, and there is no other desert. No? Then I wonder, Margethe, if you would accompany me on another after-dinner walk? And, of course, Maria, you are welcome to come, also."
Mel shook her head. "I'm tired from this afternoon's exercise." Janice looked at her sharply, but she didn't explain. Tavel rose as Mel excused herself and left the dining chamber. Janice rose, too, and walked with the nobleman through the kitchen and into the moonlit garden. Small clouds scudded across the sky, temporarily throwing shadows along the stone walkway. The two walked silently down the sloping walk toward the stone edifice that stood at the bottom of the garden. When they reached the door of that small building, Tavel reached out to unlock and open it. Janice put a hand out to stop him.
"I don't think I want to go inside," she said quietly.
"You went in last night." His eyes bore into hers. He was not a tall man, but he was taller than she was and seemed to loom over her, not threatening, but powerful.
"Did I?" She tried to pull her gaze away from his.
He put a hand on her shoulder and gently guided her toward the open door. "You want to be with me. Here. Now."
"No." But she did not resist.
Later, Janice stepped through another door into the room she was sharing with her best friend. Mel looked up from a book she was reading. "Where did you get that?" Janice asked.
"The book? Tavel let me borrow it this morning. It's about medieval paintings, religious art." Mel put the book on a night table and stood up. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Just tired. We took a long walk." Janice sat on the edge
of the bed and started to undress. "Are you done reading?" At Mel's
nod, she blew out the light, leaving only the small band of moonlight that came
in through the one long window. She finished undressing. "Would you do
"There's something I need to do, but I want to get some sleep first. Do you think you could wake me in a couple of hours?" Her voice was so weary that Mel didn't have the heart to ask her what she planned to do.
"I'll sit up until it's time to wake you."
"Thank you, Mel." Janice crawled under the covers on what was usually
Mel's side of the bed and was almost instantly asleep. Listening to her steady
breathing, Mel felt a tenderness she knew a waking Janice would reject and,
unable to help it, walked to the side of the bed, and leaning
over, gave her cheek a light kiss. "Sleep well," she whispered; then, wrapping one of the white robes around herself against the chill of the stone castle, she pulled a chair close to the window and curled up with the borrowed book.
The pictures of saints and gargoyles took on a magical appearance in the light from the moon. As did the apparition that stared up at her window from below.
After exactly two hours, Mel stood looking down at a tangle of reddish-blonde hair, all that showed above the covers. She tugged and revealed a face as angelic as that of a sleeping child. She pulled on the covers again, but by then the green eyes were open, and small, strong hands held a blanket to the level of a stubborn chin.
"Can't you sleep now and do whatever it is in the morning?" Mel asked.
Janice shook her head, seemingly trying to clear it, and sat up. She moved to the edge of the bed, then stood, taking the blanket with her.
"Are you cold?"
Janice found Margethe's knapsack and rummaged through it, finally pulling out
the black jacket, turtleneck sweater, and trousers she had worn in the raft
when she and Mel had landed in Greece. Dropping the blanket, she pulled on the
dark clothing. Back to the knapsack. This time she found a
jar of black boot polish and spread a thin layer of that on her forehead, cheeks, and chin.
"The mine?" Mel asked. "The one with the sword?"
"Yeah." The moonlight was dim now, the clouds winning the contest
between light and shadow. But Janice held up a small mirror and checked her
"make-up." Apparently satisfied, she strode to the window. "I'll
have to hurry if I'm going to run all the way to the mine, look around, and
back here by dawn."
Mel followed her and looked down the side of the castle. "We're over three stories up," she commented, "and I don't see any handholds."
"Uh, I planned on using the back stairs." Janice crossed to the door and looked back at Mel, who still stood by the window. She was surprised there was no argument about her plan. She wanted to say something, but settled for "See you in the morning."
Janice crept through the gallery to the narrow stairs used by the servants,
then down those to the kitchen and out the back door. After creeping around
the corner of the castle, she took off running at her best pace. She felt out
of shape for some reason and realized this midnight ramble was
going to be a challenge. Halfway down the lane to the road there was a stitch in her side and her breath came in ragged gasps. Run through it, she told herself. It will get better. She heard a noise behind her and tumbled into brush that lined the path.
"Janice?" a familiar voice asked softly. A soft, whiskery nose reached down and inquisitively tickled her face. "Good boy. You found her."
Janice stood up and saw her friend. Mel, also dressed in the black clothing given them by the Navy, her face covered with boot polish, held the reins of two small, dark horses and was stroking the soft brown nose of one of them. "I thought this would be faster than running."
"Yeah, good thinking." Janice put her foot in a stirrup and quickly hauled herself into the saddle. Mel followed suit, conscious that her feet hung far down the mountain pony's sides. Then Janice cracked her reins, and the two women galloped their mounts down the steep trail. Reaching the road, Janice turned off it, indicating that they would blaze a parallel trail. Mel rode easily and confidently, adjusting to the short stride of her little mount and wondering how Janice proposed to get past the guards at the mine.
In less than an hour, she got a chance to find out. "We'll tie the horses here," Janice told her, indicating an overhead branch.
"By the reins?" Mel asked doubtfully.
"You bring ropes and halters?"
"Then by the reins. Tie 'em high, and it should be all right."
Mel reached above the shorter woman's head and secured the reins. She patted
each horse on its soft nose and whispered something that Janice couldn't catch.
Then Janice was scooting through a narrow gulley and to the top of a hill that
overlooked the flat area in front of the mines. Mel
followed and, as her head came over the rise, Janice grabbed her shoulder and jerked her downward. "There." Whispered. Pointed.
The moon was now completely behind clouds, and the darkness was almost complete.
However, in the middle of the open area below, someone had built a fire in an
old fuel drum. Five soldiers in the uniform of the SS were gathered there, warming
their hands, and quietly talking. One of the
soldiers laughed, and the sound found its way up the hill to the women. Janice pointed beyond the small group of guards to the explosives shed. One guard stood directly in front of the door, rifle on his shoulder, stiffly at attention. "Oh, great," she whispered, "one guy's not a gold-brick, and he's the one guarding our shed."
"If we wait a while, maybe he'll join the others."
"No time," Janice replied. "Grube shared his patrol plan with
me. We have less than a half-hour before dogmen check this hill and find the
horses--and us." She stood in a crouch and motioned for Mel to follow her.
They silently worked their way down the hill in a wide circle and ended up
beside the shed, just where it joined the mountain. As they reached this point, one of the men by the fire called out, "Karl, come and join us. Get warm by the fire."
There was no answer, and Janice crept slowly around to the front of the shed.
In her hand she held a sharp instrument. Mel stifled a gasp as she recognized
the largest of the knives from Margethe's collection. Janice wouldn't really.
. . . would she? When she had reached the front corner,
Janice whispered to her companion, "Call him. Just say 'Karl' and stay in the shadows. Quietly." Mel looked at the knife and then at the small woman. "Do it."
"Karl." Too quietly. She tried again, pitching her voice low, trying to make the closest man hear her, but not those by the fire. "Karl."
"Who is it?" came back in German.
"Karl?" She made it a question and waited.
Cautiously a bayonet-tipped rifle came around the corner followed by a helmeted
head. Using all her strength, Janice rammed the knife into an unprotected windpipe,
and struggled to catch the heavy body as it fell. "Help me." Breaking
through her shock, Mel stepped forward and supported
the body as they pulled it the rest of the way around the shed and lowered it to the ground. Janice was pulling rags from a pocket and jamming them into the guard's mouth. From another pocket, she pulled two short lengths of rope and securely bound his hands and feet.
In almost complete darkness, Mel struggled to see the man's throat. Reluctantly
she touched a hand to the area just below his chin. Her hand came away dry.
"I drove the knife hilt into his Adam's apple," Janice whispered,
"puts 'em out like a light." She looked down at the SS uniform
and thought, Don't know why I didn't use the sharp end. But then she looked at Mel and she knew. She knew. "Press against the shed. Think like a shadow and move like one, too."
Not knowing how to think like a shadow, Mel just tried to become part of the
shed as they crept around it. In less than a minute, they were inside the door,
with no alarmed shouts indicating discovery. The torches were out, and the shed
and the mine beyond were perfectly dark. Janice rifled around in the blackness
before taking her friend's hand and leading her to the first bend in the tunnel.
Then, sure no light would reach outside the passage, she took out a lighter
and began setting afire each torch as they came to it. "Where did you get
that?" Mel asked, knowing that Janice had
had to leave her own silver lighter--and cigars--behind when she had become Margethe.
"Borrowed it from Grube."
Precious minutes ticked away before they stood in the final chamber. Then there
it was: the room hewn from solid rock in the middle of a mountain, in its center
the stone cube, and, protruding from that remnant of all that had been removed
to make this space, the ancient metal blade, its
unnatural surface seeming to reflect more light than it received.
Mel stopped, awe piercing her soul, but Janice stalked directly to the stone
platform and leaped lightly upon it. She grasped the hilt of the sword and pulled
with all her strength. And nothing happened. She pulled again with no greater
result. She surprised Mel by grinning down at her.
"Well, I didn't really think I could pull it out. But it was a thought."
"What are you going to do?" Mel asked.
In answer, Janice reached inside her jacket and pulled out four sticks of dynamite,
followed by blasting caps and a length of cord. If anything, her grin grew wider.
Quickly, she set to placing the dynamite at strategic intervals around the chamber.
"If I can get enough of the ceiling to fall,
they won't get this baby dug out for months--if at all." Intent on her work, she did not see Mel step up on the stone pedestal and place her own hands on the hilt of the sword. She finished placing the last explosive and turned just in time to see Mel pull upward. And to see the blade slide
free from the encasing rock as if from the scabbard that had housed it a millenium before.
"How did you do that?"
Mel stood looking into the reflective surface, as if into a mirror into her own soul.
"Mel? How did you do that?" Janice stepped forward, but a glance
from the other woman stopped her. For an instant, Janice wondered if the being
who was raising the sword as if in triumph--or in a silent challenge--was really
Melinda Pappas. Then blue eyes met hers and seemed to clear. And
the sword was lowered.
"I don't know." The dark-haired woman looked at the sword as if it had just leaped into her hand. She moved her hand down on the hilt and, letting the tip almost touch the stone block on which she stood, offered the prize to Janice. "Please take it. I don't want it."
Janice grabbed the hilt just as Mel let go of it and was surprised by the heft
of the weapon. She had guessed, from the way Mel had held it aloft, that its
weight was much less. Holding the sword in her right hand, she reached up with
her left to take her friend's hand and encourage her to
jump down. "We've got to get out of here," she urged. "Time's running out."
"Aren't you going to blow up the tunnel?
"Why? We have the sword." Still holding Mel's hand, Janice started toward the passage to the surface.
The taller woman pulled back. "Leave it here and blow the tunnel."
"If the Nazis want this metal, can learn from it, so can our side," Janice argued. "Besides, we can't take the chance that they'll dig it out."
Mel looked at the sword, but only for a moment, as if the sight of it pained her. Then she nodded and allowed Janice to lead her from the chamber. Reaching the point at which the light of the torches ended, Janice halted and listened. There were no sounds that indicated that the guard Karl--or his absence--had been discovered. Knowing of the superiority of her friend's hearing, she questioned, "Mel?"
"I think it's okay."
Together, the two women crept cautiously into the shed, Janice pausing once more at the boxes of explosives. Mel supposed that she was, for once, returning something she had "borrowed." As she opened the door, Janice whispered, "Remember. . . ."
"I know. Think like a shadow."
Leading the horses to the closed doors of the stable, the two women paused to listen. Hearing nothing but the soft snorts and occasional stampings of horses at rest, Mel took both sets of reins and pulled open one of the double doors. And found herself looking down at Mikel. "Oh."
The boy took the reins out of her hand and asked, "Did you have a nice ride?"
"Yes," Mel managed.
"Good." He turned and started to lead the horses through the stable aisle.
"Mikel?'' Janice said, and he looked back over his shoulder. "Who knows that we were gone?"
Standing between the horses' shoulders, he turned to face her. His grey eyes were serious, his expression hard to read. "Probably no one but me."
"Who will you tell?"
He thought before answering. "I won't lie if Count Pitesti asks me."
"Fair enough," Janice responded, and Mikel led the horses toward their stalls. Janice brought the sword out from behind her back. She wasn't sure whether the boy had seen it. Or if he would know what it was. He HAD been caught snooping around that shed.
Janice led the way to the back of the stable, where they almost walked into the side of a small building, tightly constructed of rocks and mortar. "What do you suppose this is used for?" Janice asked. She balanced the sword in her hand and looked at this possible hiding place.
"It's a cooling house," Mel answered, "what we call a spring house back home. You know, a place to keep milk and meat."
"How do you know that?"
"Tavel told me when we passed it on the way to the stables. Its where Alasandre hangs the game he shoots." She remembered that she had not told Janice everything about her day. "Tavel and I rode this afternoon. After I translated the Prometheus parchment."
"That's how you knew about the horses. What else did you do today?" Janice held up a hand, which Mel could barely see in the dark. "Never mind. This building is probably used too much to do us any good."
As they walked up a steep pathway and emerged from a copse of trees that screened the stable from the house, the moon emerged from the clouds. Mel was able to study Janice's face as she asked, "Do you trust him?"
"I think it was Mikel's idea to bring us here" was Janice's reply.
Then "Ssh. Someone is in the garden." Mel froze, and some moments
passed before there was a faint creak and then the click of a door closing.
Janice's hand found hers, and they stood together until the moon was once
again covered and darkness became nearly complete. "I think he's gone."
"Unless Betta was visiting the mausoleum before dawn."
Keeping that white stone structure between them and the house, they continued
up the narrow path. Janice peaked around the small building and, seeing no one
beyond, she tugged on Mel's hand and pointed to the kitchen door. Mel nodded.
As they passed the front of the building, Janice
reached out her free hand and tested the door. "Locked," she said.
Mel shivered. "I hope so. I didn't even know this was a mausoleum."
"For the Count's family," Janice explained. "They've used it for generations."
Mel considered that statement and the apparent size of the tomb, but she didn't
ask. They moved on, and then, suddenly disengaging her hand from her friend's,
Janice slipped back around the corner of the mausoleum. Mel thought how empty
her own hand felt, how cold, until her friend again
clasped it. Then she realized that Janice's other hand now carried no burden. "There's a small box for gardening tools by the back wall. I left the sword there." Mel didn't question her, glad that the sword was at least temporarily out of their possession.
They found the kitchen door unlocked and the house dark. Without incident, they made their way back to the room they shared. Mel sat on the bed, weak with relief. "That was easy," she commented, meaning their undetected entrance to the house.
"Yeah, almost too easy," Janice said.
"Never mind. Get out of those clothes. It's almost dawn, and we need to be up for breakfast. I have a feeling we could have visitors." Matching actions to words, Janice tore off her jacket and turtleneck. "And rub that polish off your face." She used the turtleneck to wipe her own face and then threw it to the woman on the bed. Mel caught it automatically, but she was staring at Janice.
"You're bleeding. How did you get hurt?"
Janice's hand went to her own throat. "This? A tree branch caught me when we were galloping through the woods. On the way out. It must have opened up again when I pulled my shirt away."
Mel wiped her face on the sweater and rose to hand it back. Janice finished undressing and reached for one of the white robes, but Mel's firm handed stopped her. "You'll get blood on it, and there might be questions." From her own knapsack, she pulled a white scarf, something, she supposed, that had belonged to the real Maria. Had Margethe given it to her?
She tore the long piece of material in two and, after soaking half in water from the washbasin pitcher, she used it to bathe the wound on Janice's neck. "The branch must have been pronged," she commented. "There's more than one puncture. I wish we had some disinfectant."
"It's just a scratch."
"Sure." Satisfied that the wound was as clean as she could get it, Mel wrapped the remainder of the scarf around the pale neck to make a light bandage. Then she held the robe for Janice to put on. "With you, everything is just a scratch."
"Get out of those clothes," Janice said. "We need to get rid of them." Mel followed her order and was soon wearing the matching robe. Janice bundled together both sets of dark clothing and slipped out the bedroom door. She was back, empty-handed, in fewer than five minutes.
"Where did you put them?" Mel asked.
"In a fireplace flue in one of the empty bedrooms. I doubt that the Count will have any other overnight guests for a while." Before Mel could ask any more questions, Janice climbed onto her side of the high bed. She patted the space beside her. "Come here."
"But. . . ."
"Let's talk. . . .tomorrow."
The knock on the bedroom didn't come until after dawn, but it was insistent.
Janice jumped out of bed and redonned the robe. It hung to the floor, and she
realized she had put on Mel's by mistake. Mel was sitting up, sleepily rubbing
her eyes. Janice threw her the other robe, and waited
while she put it on and sat on the edge of the bed. The knock came again, even stronger, and Janice opened the door. In the hall stood Reichskommander Grube, his gloved fist raised. Behind him were three SS soldiers, fully armed and looking grim.
"What is the meaning of this?" Janice demanded. "It can't be much past midnight, and you come calling?"
Grube stepped past her into the room. His eyes swept over Janice to the tall woman now standing and trying to pull the robe down to cover more of her legs. He spoke with authority. "There has been an attack on the mine. I am here to arrest the guilty parties."
"An attack on the mines? How did this occur?"
"Two persons injured one of my best men, gained access to the explosives shed, and took the sword." He motioned for the soldiers to enter the room. "Search for anything that looks suspicious."
Janice stepped in front of the first soldier to enter and addressed Grube. "How dare you search the belongings of an emissary of the Fuhrer himself? Am I under suspicion?"
"Of course not, Fraulein Berndt," the officer responded. "We
search only to assure your safety. Someone may have hidden something in your
room, something that would cause harm to you. I would be negligent in my duty
to the Fuhrer if I did not protect you in this way." He motioned for the
soldiers to walk around Janice and proceed with the search.
Mel was trying to follow the rapid-fire German but found herself unable to figure out what was going on. Grube's manner, while not showing as much deference as usual, seemed polite, and Janice seemed more on the offensive than defensive, even as she stepped aside to allow the soldiers past. The soldiers began to search the room, moving furniture and what little clothing lay about. When one approached the bed, Mel stood up and moved to stand behind Janice. The soldier searched the bed covers and began to remove the mattress.
"You think that the sword would be dangerous to me if someone hid it in this room?" Janice asked. "Are you afraid I would cut myself?"
"Who knows what that sword could do?" was Grube's return question.
"Besides, that is not all that was taken." One of the soldiers had
picked up the women's knapsacks, and he looked to his commander for permission.
Grube held out a hand for one of the sacks and searched that one himself. Apparently
finding nothing of interest, he put that one down and searched the other. Then
he strode to the large case he knew to be Margethe's and, finding it unlocked,
lifted the lid. His eyebrows raised as he saw the contents of the tray on top,
and he fingered one of the sharp scalpels
before removing the tray and handing it to one of the soldiers. He rifled through the whips and restraints at the bottom of the box before ordering the tray returned and the lid closed.
Pounding feet were heard on the stairs, and a soldier ran into the room, instantly snapping to attention in front of his commander and waiting for permission to speak. "Report," Grube told him.
"We caught the saboteur, Reichskommander," the man said. "He was trying to burn evidence of his crime."
"Who was it?" the officer asked.
"The pale man."
Alasandre? Janice asked instead, "What evidence?"
Grube nodded permission, and the soldier answered, "He was burning dark clothing like that worn by the criminals. He said that they were only rags that had been used to polish boots and shoes." He thought for a minute, then added, "They did smell of boot polish."
"Where is he now?" Grube questioned.
"We have him in the kitchen. The Count is there, also, and he has asked to speak with you. He says his servant could not be involved in any resistance to the authority of the Reich."
"Tell the Count I will be right down," Grube ordered. The man left, running back down the stares, and Grube turned to Janice. "Fraulein Berndt, I apologize for any inconvenience. You understand that I had to assure your safety. Finding the saboteur to be connected to the castle shows that my fears were not unfounded."
Janice nodded. "I wonder if you would allow me to accompany you while you question the prisoner. I do have some experience in these matters."
The officer hesitated. "I am sure I can handle the interrogation. We will soon know who else is involved."
"Who else?" Janice asked.
"The guard attacked saw two people, one short and one tall. The manservant will soon tell me the identity of his little accomplice."
"That would be interesting to know." Janice waited.
Grube finally agreed, "You may come with me, but I'll ask the questions."
"Of course." Janice remembered what she was wearing. "I'll dress and come right down."
Grube gave a short bow and departed with his soldiers. When their footsteps had faded, Mel began firing off her questions. "What was that all about? Were they searching for the sword? Why did they leave? Did they . . . .?"
Janice was throwing off the robe and pulling on her clean uniform. She hesitated
at the makeshift bandage, then decided to leave it on. With the uniform jacket
and blouse, it looked merely like an accessory, not proof of an injury. "Get
dressed," she said before answering any of her friend's
questions. Mel grabbed a dress the soldiers had left on the floor and hastily followed this order. "Grube was looking for the sword and anything else that might have been stolen last night. He looked here because he 'feared for our safety.' Hah! They caught Alasandre, I think, burning some clothes, and they think he was one of those responsible. Grube is going to the kitchen to question him, and you know what that means."
Janice and Mel ran to the back stairs and toward the kitchen. They could hear voices as they neared the bottom, and Janice put out a hand to stop the taller woman.
"Tell who was in this with you! And where you hid the sword!" There was a loud crack, the sound of an open palm impacting a face.
"Reichskommander! I protest!"
"Count Pitesti, you will be quiet, or you will leave the room."
"This man has done nothing against the Reich," the Count continued. "He is a good and loyal servant and knows nothing of politics."
"This clothing was worn last night by two men who attacked a soldier of the Third Reich. It is stained by polish that concealed their faces. I will have the information I need--no matter what it takes to get it."
Janice stepped out of the stairwell, and Mel followed. "Can I be of assistance, Reichskommander?"
Grube was holding the clothing she had herself concealed in a chimney only a few hours before. Before him was the albino manservant Alasandre, held in his chair by two of Grube's soldiers while another two stood close by. And trying to interpose himself between the questioner and the questioned was Count Pitesti himself.
Grube addressed himself to Janice. "This stubborn man will beg to speak before I am done with him." Janice walked to stand directly in front of the captive, lightly shouldering the nobleman out of the way. She studied Alasandre with what she hoped was a professional eye.
"He won't break easily, Reichskommander," she stated. "His kind,
the outcasts, they know pain, and some even welcome it. Only that which is so
excruciating to the body, so shocking to the mind and soul that they cannot
have anticipated it--only that can cause them to whisper their secrets into
an interrogator's ear." She stepped back. "I wish you luck." She motioned to Mel to follow her. "My secretary and I will go for a walk and see what progress you have made when we return."
"Wait." She turned back to Grube, one eyebrow raised. "We don't have much time. The accomplice may be removing the sword from the country right now." The officer struggled with his own pride, then continued, "Can you get this man to speak? Without a delay?"
"Fraulein Berndt, you are a guest in my house."
Janice swept a cold glance over her host before answering Grube's question. "Get me my tools and I'll have the sword's location and the name of his partner within a half-hour--even if it was his mother." She stepped closer to Alasandre and lowered her voice. "Did you have a mother, freak? Did she scream when they brought you to nurse?"
Alasandre's calm demeanor cracked, and he struggled against his captors, almost breaking loose. Janice stood her ground and laughed. Grube seemed convinced. "Go get her case," he said to the soldier who had earlier alerted him to the manservant's capture.
"Just the tray inside," Janice corrected before the man left.
"Stop this, Grube," the Count yelled. His light blue eyes bored into the German officer as if he would control him with his mind.
"Do not presume on your status," Grube answered. "I am an officer of the Sicherheitsdienst des Reichsfuhrers, and I, not you, am in charge here." As the two men glared at each other, the soldier returned with the tray from Margethe's case.
"Give that to me," Janice ordered, and he surrendered it. She fingered its shining contents, each touch a caress. "We could tie him to the table here, but. . . ." She glanced again at the Count. "No, I wouldn't want to affront my host by bloodying his kitchen." She seemed to have an inspiration. "There's a small building behind the stables, a store room of some kind. We can take him there for my work." With a cry of rage, Pistesti leaped at her, only to be grabbed by Grube and the two soldiers not restraining Alasandre. Grube drew his sidearm and pointed it at the nobleman's head. All fell silent until Grube stepped back and holstered the pistol.
"Take the Count into his library." One of the soldiers pushed Pitesti roughly, and Grube added, "Easy. Just take him there and watch him. He and I will have a talk while Fraulein Grube interrogates the prisoner."
Propelled by the soldiers, the Count yelled over his shoulder at Janice, "You will burn in hell for this. Forever."
"Probably," Janice agreed.
"Take the prisoner where she shows you," Grube ordered Alasandre's guards. "Follow her instructions." Janice strode toward the door, and the others followed. She turned to Mel and spoke in Greek. "Maria, return to the room and clean up the mess there. Get the maid to help you."
"But. . . ."
"I said to get the maid to help you." Her tone was low and threatening. Mel nodded and ran back up the stairs.
Alasandre again calm and not struggling, the little procession proceeded across the garden and to the small building behind the stable.
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